Question the Wind

Question the Wind

It is very late and my work is nearly done,
But, I stop at the sound of a familiar thing.
Aye, it is the wind. I hear her blow.
Oh, how strange you are
You the one called Mariah, who's traveled near and far.

I wonder of what strange things you could tell.
You, the so mysterious,
Some say they know you well.
Some say you are a woman.
Some say you are the devil himself.
Some say you are the voice of a woman forsaken by love long ago.

What many sights you've seen;
Grassy plains, mountains high, jungles green,
Soft lacy clouds, crowned kings and queens,
Gentle flowers, April showers.
And oh, Mariah, what is it that you say?
You with your mysterious voice,
Of what things do you tell both night and day?
Perhaps, could it be of the things you've seen
Or, of the talk you've heard?

Oh, merry wind, tonight you sound as if you with the fairies play upon my lawn.
Other times you sound as if you tell of times long gone.
Then suddenly you change and are all the fury of a storm.
Next you tell of souls desire torn,
And then of days when once you waved upon fields of grassy grain.

But what truths behind you lie?
What is it you whisper so soft and low?
What agonies torture your soul to make you moan and cry?
Oh, Mariah, what is the message that you sigh?
When you whisper low, do you tell of love and laughter on a moonlit night?
When you sigh and moan,
Do you cry for the time he left you so alone?
Is it for him that you roam?

Mysterious wind,
Sighing whispering moaning wind,
What secrets do you tell both night and day?
What is it that you say?
Oh, Mariah, what is the message that you leave on your way?